


Love is My Religion - I could Die for That.

by BlackandBlueMagpie



Series: Don't Call Me Brave [6]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 16:11:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackandBlueMagpie/pseuds/BlackandBlueMagpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras reaches Grantaire's flat mid-afternoon.<br/>Grantaire answers slowly, cracking open the door a little when he eventually gets there and Enjolras fears he'll slam it shut. Instead Grantaire opens it fully and leans against the door frame, looking both bemused and too tired to be dealing with the man before him.<br/>Enjolras is suddenly lost for words, something that doesn't happen often to him and it makes him stumble.<br/>"I'm sorry-"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love is My Religion - I could Die for That.

Enjolras reaches Grantaire's flat mid-afternoon, it's a run-down place standing slightly rickety in the matching street. The paint on Grantaire's door is dark green and peeling, flaking off as he knocks.  
Grantaire answers slowly, cracking open the door a little when he eventually gets there and Enjolras fears he'll slam it shut. Instead Grantaire opens it fully and leans against the door frame, looking both bemused and too tired to be dealing with the man before him. His hair is wet, dripping in dark patches on his shirt. He still looks tired and pale, lips with a slightly strange tinge despite how much he's biting them and hands shaking where they're folded against his arms.  
"Did I..."  
"No, I'd just got out of the shower."  
"You look freezing."  
"Hot water hasn't worked in weeks." Grantaire shrugs, nonchalantly. "But it made me feel better, which is something, considering how shit I felt when Jehan left."  
"I'm sorry-"  
"Not your fault, more to do with not being able to keep anything down or sleep in proper stints for a few nights. That and my head feels like it might split open and my stomach might betray me again. And my hands..." He clenches his fingers around the fabric of a sleeve and they stand there in awkward silence "Do you want coffee? I think I can manage that."  
Grantaire makes him coffee in silence - it's instant but Enjolras isn't prepared to complain - only asking once about milk and sugar.  
The apartment is small, one room with a bathroom attached. There’s a small kitchen to one side of the door, a dining room table that's less eating area more art supplies separating it from the living area. There's a threadbare couch piled with sketch books at one end and a pile of books to the side with a bottle balanced on top. In the corner is a mattress, messy sheets and several blankets spilling off of it and the pillow shoved half down the back. Opposite is an easel, a small dresser with another bottle and a set of canvases turned to the wall. He thinks he can see a split in the surface of the front one. The walls are strewn with posters and notes and sketches and bits that look like they've been salvaged from old tattoo parlours or house clear outs.  
"It's not much but it works." Grantaire hands him a mug and gestures to the sofa. "There's nothing that's a health risk I promise."  
The sofas' springs are gone and it creaks as they sit down. Grantaire drags a blanket up with him and curls in on himself, sipping a glass of water.  
"About last night..." Enjolras begins after a moment, trying to find words that come to him so easily normally.  
"It's fine; it was heat of the moment. I was upset; you felt responsible, maybe... Pity or something like that-"  
"I would never- Why would you think that?"  
"I've had people kiss me for less Apollo."  
"People do that?" Grantaire laughs, but it's sad and he shakes his head.  
"How naive are you? People kiss for all sorts of reasons; I dare say you've kissed someone because you missed someone else or were feeling over emotional."  
"I didn't kiss you out of pity."  
"Then why did you?" Grantaire glances up at him with icy blue eyes and Enjolras finds himself lost for words again.  
"I don't- know..."  
"I see." Grantaire's looking back down again, studying his hands and the glass.  
"I'm just a bit confused." Enjolras admits "And I wanted to apologise."  
"For what?"  
"For how I acted, what I said before."  
"It was nothing."  
"I was terrible to you." Enjolras whispers.  
"Nah." Grantaire shrugs. "You just don't like things getting in the way of the cause. You're passionate and I'm... Not. I daresay you'd treat any of the others the same if they acted like me."  
"You should hate me."  
"I could never hate you. Not for that. I can hate myself for letting it happen, for falling for you and needing... And being weak and..." He rubs his arm awkwardly "But I could never hate you."  
"You should." Enjolras tells him and Grantaire lets out a small noise somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh.  
"Don't think like that Apollo, we can't have two self-depreciating idiots in the same group."  
"Are you going to give up drinking again?" Enjolras asks suddenly, and then presses his lips shut. Grantaire shakes his head, running his tongue over his lips.  
"I can't, not yet. I'm not ready."  
"You were doing so well."  
"I messed up."  
"I made you mess up."  
"No, you showed me that, despite what I thought, I couldn't manage it. Maybe I will eventually but don't hold your breath."  
He looks so downcast; Enjolras wants to take his hand so clenches his fingers more tightly around his mug.  
"You're far stronger than you think you are."  
"That's not what you said the other night." There's no bitterness in Grantaire's tone as he expected there to be, just some form of resignation, a belief, maybe, that Enjolras had spoken truth and was now only going back on it because he had to.  
"I was caught up, you said it yourself."  
"Yeah, well, sorry if I'm a little bit hurt by it."  
"Why are you so pessimistic?" Grantaire blinks in surprise, blue eyes meeting Enjolras' own before they glance around the room, fingers rubbing against his arm again.  
"I've seen a bit too much, it's a by-product. You don't... Come out of some stuff unscathed and... I react badly, far worse than most. Maybe it's an overreaction, I imagine that's how most see it. I don't put it into something productive or anything. I just... Well maybe one day you can prove me wrong. Cause, that's what you're supposed to do isn't it?"  
"So about us-"  
"I mean if you can convince me you can convince anyone."  
"Grantaire."  
"What?"  
"I'm trying to talk to you. About us."  
"There is no us."  
"You don't want there to be?" Grantaire blinks, eyebrows furrowing, when he speaks it sounds incredulous.  
"You do?"  
"I don't know... Maybe?"  
"Have you been drinking Apollo?"  
"Don't raise me on a pedestal Grantaire. I'm not a god any more than you."  
"Then I'll continue to call you Apollo and I'll be Dionysus."  
"You're not taking this seriously." He grabs at Grantaire's wrists and brings their hands between them "I'm confused, okay? I think I like you but..."  
"You couldn't ever be with me?" Grantaire interrupts like it’s a reflex.  
"Grantaire. I don't know why I feel like this. But I feel... Like-" He sighs "I want to be with you. If you want to give it a go." He's said it and Grantaire's staring at him and his hands shake in Enjolras' own.  
"You don't know what you're saying."  
"Grantaire-"  
"But you-"  
"No I don't. I got annoyed and I didn't know why I felt, why I worried and I missed you when you had exams and I hadn't got a clue why. So I got frustrated..."  
"Oh..."  
"Are you okay with..?”  
"God... You can't just... Turn around and say all this Enjolras. You know that right?"  
"I-"  
"After everything you said you can't just expect..." Grantaire's voice is hurried and his fingers knock against his knees. His eyes look feverish. Enjolras squeezes his fingers and Grantaire pulls back like he's been burned. "I don't think I can do this." There's a break in his voice and Enjolras feels his stomach twist. "After- When you, I just don't know. I-I think I want you to leave." He says finally.  
"I don't want to leave you like this-"  
"Just go!" He thinks the voice should be raised, but it's barely a whisper. And for the second time in two days Enjolras sees the man he never looked hard enough to see. "Please..."  
"Okay." Enjolras nods, pushing himself up. Grantaire follows, though he sways as he goes to lean on the door. There are no goodbyes, only the clicking shut of a door behind him, and Enjolras leans heavily on the railing outside to clutch at his ribs. 

Grantaire collapses against his door as it closes his legs unable to hold him up anymore. He opens his mouth and all that comes out is a stream of 'No, No, please no." And it's desperate and sour. He presses his lips together to keep it in, presses his hands over his ears and digs his nails into his hair to stop anything getting out of him except shaky breathes that just won't stop. Just can't- Won't stop. Can't do it, can't do this.  
Doesn't need- Doesn't want... This.  
But he does, he wants it so much it hurts. It tears at him and his stomach turns over and threatens to bubble up through his throat in thick dark bile. He's wanted this since coffee and early morning confessions, since he first met Enjolras, since they talked and he listened. Since...  
He clutches at his stomach and a choking sound escapes his lips. He presses his hand over them more firmly.  
Oh God, oh God...  
He can't do this, can't... Cope with-  
He can cope with Enjolras calling him worthless, belittling and looking down because, as much as it hurts, he knows it's true. He can't handle the sudden praise, blinding positivity that sears through him in lies and misgivings and false apologies that are only there because everyone thinks they should be. They hurt worse, far far worse than any insult.  
It tears and rips at his insides; pulling them apart and pushing them back together in unrecognisable shapes. His heart feels like it's shattering, breaking apart and spraying the inside of his ribs with black tar. It spills into his veins and down his limbs like poison, creeping aching in his skull.  
He's going to be sick.  
He should call...  
His hand finds the door handle and he levers himself up. The movement makes his head spin again and his legs threaten to buckle.  
"No..." He rests his forehead against the wood of the door, breathing out in moans. "No. No. No..."  
The pain fades to an ache of what was, sitting in his chest, dripping black. He presses his hand to his chest and breathes with labouring lungs to try and clear the lingering acid nausea. He swallows hard and swipes his tongue over his lips.  
The bitter taste remains.

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this around for a while, but hadn't got around to finishing it. Then I began a bit that goes after an everything fell into place.  
> I have too many Grantaire feelings, I empathise with his character quite well and I wanted to put across some of the disbelieving self hating side of him that I'm not sure I manage to put across in my modern Grantaire all the time...  
> There is a little bit before this I might post but we'll see.  
> Title comes from Keats - I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for religion - I have shuddered at it. I shudder no more - I could be martyred for my religion - Love is my religion - I could die for that.


End file.
